Stations of the Cross

I’ve finally been able to get more of my laundry done! It was a very nice day for it. The sun felt gentle instead of scorching and a pleasant breeze was blowing throughout the morning and afternoon. The heat was the kind of heat I felt I could handle. To be clear, I don’t do my own laundry. There are no washing machines here. The gate watchmen help me by doing my laundry. I provide them with the soap, then when they are done, I hang the clothes out to dry. When they are dry, I iron them.

 

I feel I should explain why I bought an iron (or an electric goose) before I bought so many other things I need. My reason was a tidbit of information I was told by a very reliable source (Janice England) about doing laundry in Africa. When you hang your clothes out to dry, there is a bug that can land on your clothes and lay its eggs in the fabric. Once you put on your dry clothes, the eggs will hatch, and the newborns will burrow their way into your skin. The only way to kill these infestations, is to iron the dry clothes as soon as possible. I haven’t ironed anything in years, but it was a pleasant chore for me to perform. I liked the rhythmic motions, and I did it right next to an open window where I could hear the birds singing.

 

Later in the day, Father Luigi, one of Janice England’s friends, offered to drive me to a village in the bush called Kabonka where we would do the stations of the cross with the villagers. I told him I would absolutely love to! I love going to the bush. The dirt roads with their potholes are more fun than the paved highways and speed bumps in Makeni. Father Luigi has a strong truck. It took a pretty bad beating as we drove. I couldn’t stop laughing and shouting “Whee!” with every bump as we drove. I love seeing all the trees everywhere and the flowers and the villages in the bush. We passed by a hill that Father Luigi called “The camel”. At a certain angle, it does look like a camel’s head and hump. The sky seems to be a brighter shade of blue in the bush than it does in Makeni. In Makeni, all colors seem muted. Sometimes I think I would prefer to live in the bush instead of in a city like Makeni. But I think it’s better that I live in a city. I’m closer to more things and it’s more familiar to what I’m used to back in the States.

 

Father Luigi came to Sierra Leone back in 1968. He pointed out many of the churches and schools he helped build in the bush as we drove. Father carries sweets in his car all the time, so wherever we went, children would line up and ask him for some. They were Italian sweets. I’d never seen them before. He let me have two! He also bought me an apple flavored soda called “Apple Cedar”. I think it was supposed to be apple cider, which is my favorite drink! It tasted close enough to it. He told me a soda always helps stave off thirst when it gets too hot.

 

When we arrived in Kabonka, we parked in front of the “All Saints Catholic Church of Kabonka” as it clearly said on the front. There were a few parishioners waiting for him to arrive, but he told me he had hoped for a bigger crowd. Some people there spoke English and some spoke Krio, but they mostly spoke a tribal dialect that I cannot remember the name of. I think it started with a “L”. There was an older couple seated out front of the church whom Father Luigi introduced me to. The man’s name was Daniel, and he was from Sierra Leone. The woman’s name was Victoria, and she was originally from Ukraine.  She had come to Sierra Leone to be a teacher, and she taught for many years. Her and Daniel were married in the very church we were standing in front of in 1987. Unfortunately, she was forced to leave her teaching position because her school shut down and she lives on her pension. She also has vision trouble and gets tired very easily, so she did not join the rest of the congregation in the stations of the cross. She sat out in front of the church and waited for us. Just for the record, yes, I tried to take photos, but all my photos on my Sierra Leonean phone have recently been deleted. So once again, I got nothing.

 

The stations, which had been painted on wooden planks, had been set up along the road leading into the village. The parishioners who were participating, Father Luigi, and I all made our way down the dusty dirt road to the first station (Jesus is condemned to death). A teenage girl carried the crucifix in front of the group while a young man carried a drum. At the first station, the congregation leader read out the station in English first, then in the local language. After the station was done, a little girl picked up the wooden plank, placed it on her head, and we started walking towards the next station. Another young girl started singing a hymn I wasn’t familiar with. It was in the local language and the young man started beating the drum and the whole congregation started clapping and joined in the singing. I did my best to join in too, but it’s hard when you don’t know what the words mean. They sang the word “Jesus” a lot though, so I got the gist of what they were singing about.

 

I don’t think whoever set up the stations understood how Roman Numerals work. Station Eleven was mixed up with Station Nine, and Station Four was missing completely. However, Father Luigi insisted we press on and continue down the road while reciting the stations in order. He had me read for Station Six (Veronica wipes Jesus’s face). I was honored. It’s my favorite station. The last station was read in front of the church. When we were finished, we all went inside the church and said an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be.

 

The inside of the church had many beautiful paintings of stories from the bible, all of them featuring Jesus. Jesus is usually portrayed as a black man in most of the churches I’ve been to in Sierra Leone. I’ve also seen Him portrayed as a blonde man with blue eyes in churches in the States and Europe. I’ve also seen Him portrayed as someone of Asian descent. All are beautiful portrayals. I’m partial to Jesus being portrayed as a Middle Eastern Jewish man myself. But I think I liked this portrayal of black Jesus the best out of all the black Jesuses I’ve seen. This black Jesus was smiling in most of the paintings. Usually, he looks so solemn. The backgrounds of the paintings were very colorful. Whoever painted them was very talented. In the back of the church, over the door, was a painting of the very church we were inside of. It had several priests and villagers gathered outside, all smiling and holding hands.

 

When the prayer was finished, everyone went back outside and began to “break fast”. During Lent, most Catholics will not eat meat on Fridays. But here, many people will not eat or drink until the end of the day. I think it is influenced by the Muslim Ramadan. Ramadan is happening the same time as Lent this year and it is also a time of fasting. During Ramadan, people will eat in the very early morning hours, then not eat or drink until the sun goes down. I think the Catholics here adopted this style of fasting for Lent. At least, that’s my understanding of it. Father Luigi says this style of fasting is similar and Islam has influenced the practice of fasting here, but he says it’s different because when Sierra Leonean Catholics “break fast” it’s more social. People brought out pots of rice and other dishes I couldn’t identify. They all sat around the pots and shared with everyone gathered. Father Luigi got out some water and biscuits he had brought in his truck to help with “breaking fast”. It reminded me of the potlucks we have after church back in the States.

 

After we drove back to Makeni, Father Luigi invited me to dinner at the compound where he lives. His compound is on Stocco Road too. There are about 12 other priests living there, but there were only 3 others there for dinner. They had fish and omelets to eat. There was also pasta and tomato sauce and best of all, cheese! I hadn’t seen cheese anywhere since being here! For dessert the priests had some mangos. I have had mangos here before and while the flavor is good, I’ve always found them very hard to eat. After peeling them, the insides are very stringy and not very juicy. It reminds me of the goop inside of a pumpkin. It gets stuck in my teeth all the time. But I found out that it was just because they were not ripe yet. The ones the priests had were nice and juicy and much easier to eat and peel. It was a nice end to the day. There was even electricity when Father Luigi drove me home! I hope for more days like this in Sierra Leone.